by Kaira Rouda
“Will you marry me, Katie?” he said as he dropped to one knee on the moonlit path outside the inn.
I was stunned. Not because he was proposing, but because he was proposing here, in this strange place full of history that wasn’t mine and never would be. Here, and yet, it was magical, out of time, out of place. A place we didn’t belong and would never visit again.
I looked into his twinkling blue eyes and knew he was the one. It wasn’t about where we were, it was about being together, always. I knew we would build a big life together. He’d already proven his work ethic. EventCo was better because of him, because of our teamwork.
“Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.” I was drinking a strange cocktail, something traditionally East Coast, something pink. An old-fashioned? I remember the promises of forever, and loyalty, and until death do us part.
The doorbell rings.
I push myself to stand and walk on wobbly legs to the front door.
“Mom? Do you want me to get it?” Ashlyn calls from upstairs. It’s too soon. She can’t know this. Not yet. Not until I have more details.
“I’ve got it. It’s Lance. Work stuff,” I yell. The lie rolls off my lips easily.
“Of course. Work stuff. It’s always fucking work stuff!” Ashlyn slams her door.
My mind flashes back to the dinner when John told me he was moving out, leaving me for Tish. That night changed my world forever. Changed me forever. I push those thoughts away and focus on now. John is dead.
I hold Tish responsible for this, even as part of me sees it’s what he deserved. He left me for a woman half his age, a woman who used the oldest trick in the book to seduce my husband, right under my nose. So yes, I hold him responsible, culpable. Liable. Lie-able.
But it’s my fault, too. Why didn’t I see her coming? See the threat more clearly? Was I so blinded by ambition, by our race for success and the promise of big money on the horizon, that I didn’t care enough about our personal life together any longer? I mean, when John stood up and walked out of that restaurant, we hadn’t been intimate in months. Nothing but quick kisses, brief hugs, promises of tomorrow night, or the agreement that we needed a date.
He was trying to work his way back to me, to his family. I just know it. He was seeing me again, and he liked what he saw. John was ready to reconnect. He wanted to come back home. That’s what he wanted.
It’s time to let Lance inside, as much as I want to avoid this moment, the reality of what has happened. I take a deep breath and open the door.
Lance embraces me. “God, Kate, I’m so very sorry.”
I lead him into the living room. I’m in shock, I know. I also know I need to tell Ashlyn. John’s death is news. Our company just went public.
Lance drops into a chair in the family room. “We’re in trouble. The IPO. John.”
I ignore Lance for the moment. I open my laptop and scroll to the news. And there it is. EventCo CEO dead at age fifty. Apparent heart attack. News travels fast. Bad news, faster. Tragic news, the fastest. We need to get in front of it. Stay in front of it. We cannot allow this tragedy to ruin the company. It won’t.
I take a deep breath. “I’ll be right back. I need to tell Ashlyn.”
I climb the stairs slowly, thoughts racing through my mind. I need to bring John home. I need to be the one in charge of his body, of his proper burial. We’d had it planned, morbidly I suppose, for years. And now, it’s my role as the mother of his only child, as the wife—his first wife, with whom he spent twenty-three years.
I say a silent prayer as I reach the top of the stairs. Don’t worry, John. I’ll handle everything. You’ve done enough. Rest in peace.
I knock on Ashlyn’s bedroom door, knowing after I walk across the threshold, John’s death will be real. And things will never be the same.
“Mom, what’s wrong? Are you crying? You never cry.”
“Oh, darling.” I fold her into my arms. This will be the hardest moment in her young life. I take a deep breath. “Your father has died.”
“Mom? What? No!” I hold her tight. I’ll help her through this. She’ll need me more than ever. The company will need me more than ever.
I kiss the top of my daughter’s head as she sobs. “Shhh, Ashlyn. I’m here. I’m so sorry. It’s going to be all right.” As I say those words, I resolve to make them true.
My daughter is shaking. “Dad missed us.”
“I’m not sure of that, honey, but I’m here. I’m always here for you. We have each other,” I murmur, knowing it’s not enough in her mind, but it will have to be from now on. Was John’s plan to attempt to reconcile? Maybe so, but it doesn’t matter now.
The house phone begins ringing downstairs, and I hear Lance answer in the hallway.
“No comment. Please respect the family’s privacy.” I hear the phone drop back onto the cradle. The media wants a comment from me about John’s death. I wasn’t there, what can I add? We’ll need to prepare an official statement.
Ashlyn leans against me, sobbing. “Have you talked to Tish? Was she there, with him? Did he suffer?”
A gruesome image of John dying burst into my imagination: bug eyes, foaming mouth, choking sounds. Accompanied by the vision of Tish standing over him. I shake my head. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t have any details, but I’ll get them. I will find out what happened. I promise.”
CHAPTER 15
ASHLYN
I fall into my mom’s arms. I can’t stop shaking. This isn’t happening. My dad and I talked last night. My mom is wrong. She must be. It doesn’t make sense. My heart beats so fast I think it might break.
“I talked to Dad last night. He was so sad. He said he was coming home to us.”
“What do you mean? What exactly did he say?” Mom asks me.
“He was slurring his words. But he said he wanted to come home, he didn’t feel good. And then she came out on the deck and made him hang up,” I say, fighting to talk through my tears. “I hate her. I hate what she’s done to our family. I hate what she did to Dad.”
Mom pulls me tighter. “Yes, she’s horrible. But Dad’s an adult. He made his choice, honey.”
“He made a bad choice,” I say. There is a dark and angry pit growing in the bottom of my stomach. “What are we going to do now?”
Mom pulls away. “What do you mean? We’ll be fine. We have been fine ever since your dad left us. Don’t worry about a thing. I will handle everything.”
“OK,” I answer. I know Mom is in charge, she always has been. I guess I meant what will I do without my dad? He was the one in charge of fun. He used to be the one who could make me laugh. Since Tish came along, all he did was grow more and more distant. And now, he’s gone. A sob shakes me to the core as my mom holds me tight.
“Listen, honey, come with me. We need to make arrangements. Lance is waiting,” Mom says. “Doing something for your dad will help you feel better.”
“No, hugging Dad right now would make me feel better. I need a minute alone.” Mom nods and kisses the top of my head.
“We’ll always miss your dad, of course, but we will get through this together.”
We have already been missing my dad. Now, I guess we always will. I can’t stop the tears as they spill from my eyes. My phone lights up. Texts pour in from college and high school friends. My dad’s death is big news in Grandville and beyond. It’s crazy to think that tragedy gets more attention than good news. I mean, not one of my friends texted about the IPO. But I guess that’s true of people in general. They only see what they want to see, even when the truth is right in front of them.
I ignore all the texts, grab my teddy bear, and curl up in bed. My dad shouldn’t have left home. We were all happy once, just the three of us. It seems so long ago that he and I were allowed to be alone together, to laugh together.
I knew they weren’t happy together anymore. I saw it. He told me. But I never imagined this could happen, that he would die before he got away from her. Oh, Dad, why did you mess everyt
hing up?
Why did you have to leave me?
CHAPTER 16
TISH
Officer Taylor hands me a cup of coffee and tells me I don’t have to go to the morgue if I identify John’s body here, at the hospital. This place is bad enough. I can’t imagine what the morgue looks like. I glance up at the officer, standing next to me like a guard dog. He’s so kind and because he is, another round of tears springs to my eyes.
“They brought John’s body here from our condo. They know who he is. It’s already online everywhere. Tell them to google him.” I take a sip of coffee. It’s terrible.
“It’s just a formality, ma’am.” He stands up. His dark hair is slicked back and receding, creating deep V-shaped peaks on both sides. It works for him, I must say.
Focus, Tish.
“OK.” I follow him down the hall and into the last bed in the emergency department. He pulls the curtain back, and when I nod, he pulls down the top sheet.
I cover my mouth. I haven’t had to identify a dead body before, and I’d like to avoid it in the future. He looks terrible, his mouth frozen as if he’s trying to scream. I turn away.
“That’s him,” I say, and feel my knees buckle.
Officer Taylor rushes to my side, helping me back to a chair in the waiting room. “What happens next is the coroner will collect the body, take legal custody. He’ll want to talk to you, too. There will be an autopsy.”
“No,” I say. “Please. He wouldn’t want that. He was under a lot of stress. He had a bad heart. It was a ticking time bomb. We all knew it.”
“I understand. Nobody really wants a loved one opened up, not unless it’s foul play or something. You can tell him your feelings when he calls, but it’s Colorado law,” Officer Taylor says.
The ER doctor on call comes by to give her condolences, says John was dead on arrival and that she’s so sorry. I wonder briefly why an ER doctor is overweight. Isn’t that a health risk? Lead by example and all. She probably stress eats french fries or doughnuts, like John did. Poor John. I sign some forms she hands me.
“The coroner will be here any minute. His name is Dr. Welty. He’s quite good, very compassionate.” The ER doctor stands. She’s finished with me.
I watch a lot of Law & Order. I mean, who doesn’t? So I expected a pale, frail older man to play the part of the coroner. But no. This Dr. Welty is at least six feet, is tanned, and has perfect white teeth. Store bought. We shake hands.
“Mrs. Nelson. I’m terribly sorry to meet in this manner. Could we step into a conference room? I have a few questions,” he says.
Officer Taylor and I follow him down the hall and into a tiny all-white room. I feel like a criminal in this room, pinned in by a cop and a movie-star coroner. But I’m not a criminal, I’m the wife. A tear rolls down my cheek.
“Did your husband have a heart condition?” Dr. Welty asks, typing notes on his phone.
“Yes. High blood pressure. He was on medicine,” I answer. “Edira is the name.”
“Any other prescription drugs?” he asks. “Recreational?”
“No. John enjoyed a stiff drink now and again, nothing else. But he was under a lot of stress. Our company just went public. We celebrated last night,” I say.
My heart thumps in my chest. Do I sound like I’m hiding something?
“Yes, I read about that. Unfortunately, news of his death leaked almost immediately. We have launched an internal investigation,” he says, white teeth visible even while frowning. I wonder if he drinks coffee. No way.
“I was surprised by the media coverage, too. But he is, was, an important man. That’s why I need to take John home, for a proper burial,” I say.
“I understand. I’ll perform the autopsy sometime tomorrow. It’s standard in a sudden death like this, especially if alcohol is involved, section A.3,” he says.
“I’d rather you not. It was a heart attack,” I say.
“It’s the law, ma’am. But I’m not expecting to find anything suspicious. Were you two perhaps drinking more than usual last night?”
I smile. “It was a special evening. Yes, we were celebrating the IPO, and well, our anniversary. It was our place. We were going to retire here.” I drop my head, momentarily unable to speak. I am embellishing the purpose of our trip, of course, but John did propose to me right here in Telluride.
“Unfortunately, we see this happen quite often. Mountain Village sits at more than 9,500 feet. You combine drinking and altitude with a heart condition, well, it can be trouble.”
“I didn’t realize,” I say. “He’d just been working so hard. I was trying to help him unwind.”
“I understand. Mrs. Nelson, if you could provide me with the name of Mr. Nelson’s cardiologist, I think I have what I need for now.”
I write down the cardiologist’s contact info. “When will I be able to take John home?”
“There’s a process, ma’am,” Officer Taylor says.
“Yes, indeed,” Dr. Welty agrees. “Once the autopsy is complete, and as long as there is nothing suspicious, we try to release the body within a couple of days. You’ll need to wait for the official death certificate before removing him from the state. Give us a week, Mrs. Nelson. We’ll be in touch.”
Dr. Welty leaves the room, and I slump into my chair. I’m trapped here, it seems. All I can do is wait and hope they don’t find anything “suspicious” that holds things up. They won’t, though, I’m certain of that. I start to cry, and across the table Officer Taylor shifts in his seat.
“Can I drop you somewhere, maybe with a friend? You’re not going to want to go back home until the scene is cleared and cleaned.”
My mind flashes to John’s body, the vomit, the smell. “I don’t know anyone here. Can you take me to a hotel?” I ask him. I didn’t realize I’d be stuck in Telluride, waiting for John. But it would look terrible if I flew home without him, so I will stay.
Officer Taylor opens the passenger door of his squad car, and I slip inside. I’m glad he didn’t make me ride in the back like a criminal. As we pull out of the parking lot, I book a room on my phone. A suite. “The Peaks, please.”
“Nice choice,” he says. “Best place on the mountain.”
Oh, I know. There are winners and losers in life. I like to stay where the winners stay.
CHAPTER 17
TISH
My phone rings, but I don’t recognize the number. I almost ignore it but realize it’s a Telluride number. I’ve been stuck here in my hotel room for three days waiting for news about John. Sure, it’s a beautiful suite, but I feel trapped. I’m cranky and restless. Hoping for any information, I answer the phone.
“Mrs. Nelson. It’s Dr. Welty,” he says, and I see a big toothy grin.
My heart thumps in my chest. “Yes, hello. Have you, um, finished with John?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be releasing the body. The cause of death was cardiac arrest due to or as a consequence of hypertension and heart disease. The death certificate should be processed soon. Again, my condolences.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath. “Thank you.”
“Any questions for me?” Dr. Welty asks.
“I just wait for the death certificate, and then I’ll take him home, right?” I feel as if the weight of the world is off my shoulders. I take another deep breath.
“Yes, that’s all you need to do. Take care, Mrs. Nelson,” he says and hangs up.
Well, that’s not all I need to do, not by a long shot.
Here’s another truth when you marry a man who is twenty-five years your senior: he will die before you. Everyone knows it. Not sure why there had to be any questions, any “investigations.” Yet, according to Officer Taylor, that’s what they have been doing since he died. Recreating John’s last day, retracing his steps. It’s absurd and gruesome. Maybe they don’t have much action up here? I assume all of that nonsense stops now that the coroner’s report is in.
I take a sip of tea and rub my tired eyes. Before h
e dropped me here, Officer Taylor handed me the business card of a company that specializes in cleaning up after deaths in the home. A gruesome way to make a living, but they were there this morning after the scene was cleared to “take care of things.” Cleaned or not, I will never be able to set foot in that condominium again, I know as my stomach lurches at the memory. Not after what I saw.
Because John is dead. Cardiac arrest. Underlying heart disease. Period.
His obituary is in the paper today in Telluride, Ponte Vedra Beach, and Columbus. That all happened seemingly by magic. A single call to handsome, helpful Lance at EventCo, and everything was set in motion. I didn’t have to make any calls. Not to Kate, or Ashlyn, or to the rest of the company. Lance handled all of that. He said I had enough on my plate. He even offered to fly out, help with the arrangements.
The arrangements.
I am in charge of the body. Just thinking about it, right now, my skin prickles into goose bumps. I mean, it turns out there are a lot of decisions to make when you’re the wife of someone who has died. In Ohio, where we live and where he’ll be buried, the wife has all the rights. It is all up to me, no matter how much Kate and Ashlyn want to make it about them. And they do. They call me, or at least Kate does, every other hour. I’ve taken to sending her to voice mail. She leaves messages saying she just wants to help, blah, blah, blah. That she’ll handle everything. To think of Ashlyn. To have some compassion.
No way. I’m in charge now. John was my husband, not hers. I told them not to fly here, that there was nothing for them to do. They called me again, just this afternoon, together, in a wonderfully overwhelming show of strength and solidarity, and left a long voice mail.
“Please, fly the body home to the family mausoleum. John’s parents are buried there. I know that is what he would have wanted. Let Schoedinger Funeral Home handle this, please. I’ve already talked to them, and they expect his remains. It’s all been prearranged. Tish, please, I know—knew—John better than anyone. Better than you. Please.” Kate sounded firm, but she was desperate. She always wants to be in control.
